Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,23

over his forehead, and she could not make out his eye color. He sounded like a Londoner, though. She had lived there long enough to recognize the accent.

“What’s a fair wage when you’ve a hole through the head?” one of the men from the village asked. The other men grumbled their agreement.

“I personally guarantee your safety,” the big man said.

That silenced the grumbling. The big man looked toward Pru, and she turned her head back to the window and the continuing scene inside Clark’s. Mrs. Northgate was no longer gesturing widely. Now she was watching Mr. Clark measure the russet fabric.

“It’s harvest time,” one of the men said. “I can’t afford to be away from my land.”

“Then don’t come,” the Londoner said, sounding unconcerned. “But if you could do with an extra few coins in your pocket, then we’d be happy to have you.” He tipped his hat and the men dispersed slowly, speaking amongst themselves in low voices.

Pru thought how unfair it was that she was not a man. She had time and would like a few coins in her pocket instead of having to ask Mr. Higginbotham any time she needed funds. Yes, he’d given her the money for a new dress, but how was she to ask him for a few coins for a new chemise? The one she had was frayed and patched. Her shoes were another issue. Like her pea-green dress, they had been rescued from the donation bin. They had been serviceable when she’d first received them two years ago, but now the sole was coming apart and her stocking had gotten wet when walking in the rain this morning.

Even if she asked Mr. Higginbotham for the money, she did not know how much her parents had left for her. For all she knew, the money he’d given her for the dress fabric was all they’d left. Pru hated being a charity case, but that’s exactly what she was. It was what she’d always be since she didn’t have the education, references, or skills to be anything else.

“Do I have a wart on my nose?” the Londoner asked, moving toward her. Pru jumped, realizing he was speaking to her.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“You were staring at me.”

She waved a hand, feeling her cheeks heat. “I was thinking and have a bad habit of staring off into space when I think. I wasn’t looking at you so much as through you.”

“That’s a disappointment.” He moved close enough that they could converse without raising their voices but with plenty of space between them.

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“A man never likes for any young lady to look through him.”

Pru rolled her eyes. “So it’s like that.”

He raised his brows in question.

“You are a charmer.”

“I do try.” He took off his hat and she saw his eyes were green. Quite a pretty green too. “Allow me to introduce myself, Rowden Payne.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Payne. I am Prudence Howard.”

“And what were you thinking so hard about, Miss Howard?”

“Money,” she said with a sigh.

“Not romance?” He smiled.

“Gads, no. Romance won’t buy me a new pair of boots.”

He gestured to the store window. “Were you thinking of going inside and inquiring about a position?”

“No. I’m waiting for...a friend of mine to come out. She’s purchasing fabric.”

“Ah.”

“Are you here from London?” she asked.

“Yes.” He brightened. “You’ve heard of me?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Rowden Payne? The Royal Payne?” he asked hopefully.

“No.”

He laughed, seemingly in spite of himself. “You are most direct, Miss Howard. I am staying at Wentmore, helping Mr. Pope to repair the old pile.”

Pru straightened. “Then you are friends with Mr. Pope?”

“You know him?” His brow furrowed in surprise.

“I’ve met him. Is that why you are hiring laborers? To repair his house? I am ever so glad to hear that. I think it must have been a beautiful house in its time.”

“It will be again, I’m sure.”

There was a pause in the conversation, and Pru glanced through the window again. Mr. Clark was wrapping the fabric in paper. She turned back to Mr. Payne. “How will you guarantee their safety?”

“Whose? The laborers?”

“Yes. You know Mr. Pope shot a Scotsman just a few months ago.”

He smiled. “I had heard that, yes. But he won’t be shooting anyone while I am here.”

“How can you be sure?”

“You ask a lot of questions, Miss Howard.”

She shrugged. “Everyone says that. Oh, here comes Mrs. Northgate. Step over there or I shall have to explain why I am speaking to